


too ruthless to break

by extasiswings



Series: enemies of time [4]
Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Post-Finale, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 10:12:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10006493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extasiswings/pseuds/extasiswings
Summary: You think I sleep?(Of course he doesn't)





	

_“What if the monsters come when I’m sleeping?”_

_“Well, then I’ll protect you, okay? I’ll always protect you.”_

_“Daddy? Why did you lie?”_

_“What?” The pop of gunshots muffled by silencers resounds in his ears and before his eyes, Iris and Lorena shift from alive and smiling and happy to the way he’d found them, bloodstained and cold._

_No… “You didn’t protect them.”_

_It’s Lucy then, Lucy looking at him with wide eyes, a gun pressed to her head by a shadowy figure. “You can’t protect me.”_

_“No!” The gun fires._

Flynn’s eyes shoot open, a shout trapped in his throat. Cold sweat prickles over his brow and his heart pounds rapidly as he tries to banish the nightmare from his head. At his side, Lucy blessedly doesn’t stir, her face relaxed in her own sleep. 

(She looks so peaceful—Flynn swallows hard, trying to convince himself that he doesn’t need to wake her despite how much he might want to. It would be selfish, especially considering how little sleep all of them get, but he does want to, very much so) 

He slips from the bed carefully. There’s no way he’ll be able to get back to sleep after a dream like that, not with nausea twisting his stomach and panic shoring up the demons in his head (not that they needed assistance to begin with). But, he doesn’t go far. The thought of leaving the room, of not being able to see Lucy for himself as he waits for the image of her crumpling to the ground to disappear, is too much to manage, so he perches in a chair in the corner instead. 

_“You think I like helping these bastards? You think I sleep at night?”_

(That had been one of their earliest meetings, snarled in her face and far more honest than he had meant to be, but then, Lucy’s always been able to pull that out of him whether he liked it or not)

_You think I sleep?_

_“Daddy!”_

(Of course he doesn’t)

Flynn shudders and swipes a hand over his face, rakes his fingers through his hair. Christ. It’s not as though the nightmares are new. No, far from it. The addition of Lucy is new though. Ever since Roswell, ever since she put herself in between him and a gun, she’s been a regular feature. 

(Roswell...He had been so furious with her for that, so terrified he hadn’t been able to breathe. And then they’d returned to the future and she’d...yelled at him)

She shouldn’t be. It’s a sign that he’s let her in too far, let himself get far too close. He never should have kissed her, never should have touched her, never should have dared. Before, he was determined that he wouldn’t go back to his family after saving them, convinced that he didn’t deserve them because of the blood on his hands—Lucy shouldn’t be different. But she is.

(There’s a whisper in the back of Flynn’s mind that she knows, she’s seen every piece of him, every dark and twisted thing inside, and yet she wants him anyway. She trusts him anyway. She doesn’t care about the blood, the dirt, the darkness—no, she takes his hands and guides them over her anyway, lets him bury himself in her and find solace—she understands) 

He loves her. It terrifies him. _She_ loves _him_. That terrifies him even more. His own feelings are easy to dismiss, to compartmentalize, to control. If she hadn’t kissed him, he never would have acted on them. Lucy though...he can’t control Lucy’s feelings. He can’t control her choices. He can’t make her not jump in front of a bullet for him, even though that’s the last thing in the world he deserves.

(There’s another whisper that says he’s a fool, that she’s neither as pure nor as good as he thinks in his darkest moments, that in fact, they’re the same)

“Garcia?” Lucy’s voice is rough with sleep and Flynn’s gaze flicks toward the bed. When she stretches, his eyes track the movements. “Are you okay?”

 _No_ , is on the tip of his tongue. _I watched you die and I couldn't stop it. And I can’t close my eyes without seeing it again._

Lucy sits up slowly and tips her head as she considers him carefully. Then she reaches out to him. 

"Come back to bed." 

(He can't deny her anything—that's always been his problem—so he does, crossing the room and letting her tug him down to the mattress)

"You don't have to tell me," she murmurs. "But you can. No matter what it is."

 _I'm not going to break_ is written in her face, her eyes, the set of her mouth, even barely half-awake as she is. 

_I love you_ , Flynn wants to reply, but the words stick in his throat. 

(If he doesn't say them it feels less like a betrayal—echoes of vows that no longer apply clinging to him like spiderwebs nonetheless. So he doesn’t)

He kisses her instead. And he doesn’t stop. 

It’s soft and slow, almost lazy as befits the quiet haze between sleep and wakefulness. Lucy hums when Flynn skims his fingers up her side, arches into him when they brush her breast. When she reaches for him, he catches her hands and gently presses them into the pillows above her head—her eyes meet his for a long moment, but then flutter closed as she sighs and goes pliant beneath him. 

(His chest twists at the sheer amount of _trust_ in that, the understanding and acceptance that he needs to touch her but can’t have her touch him, that there are too many cracks in him for that and pushing too hard might shatter him)

Flynn takes his time from there, exploring—worshipping, really—with his hands, his mouth. His tongue traces the line of her collarbones, tastes the juncture of her neck and shoulder, and then dips lower. Lucy is quieter than he’s come to expect from her, so much so that he almost wonders if she’s fallen back to sleep. But when he glances up after nipping lightly at her hip, she’s watching him with half-lidded eyes, her lower lip caught between her teeth. 

She doesn’t stay silent for long—not once he parts her thighs and sets his mouth to her folds, his tongue dancing over her expertly. Flynn, for his part, loses track of time, single-minded in pursuit of her pleasure. She comes once on his tongue, then his fingers, and only pulls him away when he dips his head for a third time.

“What do you need?” Lucy asks. The rasp in her voice now has very little to do with sleep, and the pleasure in it pools in his ears like honey. 

“You,” Flynn replies. “Just you.” 

_Maybe this is his absolution._

When she reaches for him again he lets her. And later, with Lucy wrapped tight in his arms, he falls back to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I have no self control.


End file.
